


Season of the Witch

by Audrey Vane (forvanityssake)



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Celtic Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Anti-Hero, Binge Drinking, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fashion & Couture, Female Anti-Hero, Goths, Hook-Up, M/M, Magic, Multi, Music, One Night Stands, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Salem MA, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, Witchcraft, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forvanityssake/pseuds/Audrey%20Vane
Summary: Maeve Crawford is an unironically goth photographer, Instagram influencer, self-proclaimed Queen of Darkness, and overall magnificent bitch living in Salem, Massachusetts, a town that is far more mysterious than it appears. An entire secret world of witches, gods, fairies, vampires, Arthurian Knights, banshees, and other creatures of legend lurks just beyond human sight in this notoriously spooky city - and unbeknownst to her, she's been part of it all along. What seems like an ordinary night clubbing and having a one-night-stand with an enigmatic stranger will actually prove to change the course of her life forever, as Maeve discovers the complicated truth of her birthright.





	Season of the Witch

Maeve Crawford awoke to an unexpected tilt in the mattress. Even through the haze of half-sleep and a pressing hangover, she became aware of more restless shifting beside her, then an arm curling around her waist and pulling her forward to press against a long, lean body. A cloud of warm breath blew across her forehead, followed by the sound of a low sleepy groan and a face pressing itself into her own pillow.

Coming to the unfortunate realization that she wouldn’t stand a chance of falling back asleep with such a fidgety bedfellow, Maeve began the process of opening her unpleasantly dry eyes. Her eyelashes were practically glued together from the previous night’s mascara, which caused her some difficulty and discomfort, but she eventually blinked past the pain and braved the light of day.

She saw a young, male face with rumpled hair, bare shoulders, and a slender arm thrown around her, silhouetted against the muted lavender wallpaper of her bedroom. He was attractive, Maeve supposed, but not enough for this annoying behavior first thing in the morning.

As if on cue, she saw his eyes flit open and closed a few times before fixing on her. A mischievous, sleepy smile began working its way across his face. “Morning, babe.” The casual hand on her back came to life, pulling her nude body against his even more tightly, and all of a sudden his mouth was pressing into hers in an insistent, eager kiss.

The nerve of some people. “Ugh,” Maeve said in disgust, pushing him onto the other side of the bed and disengaging from his grasp. “Please take your clothes off my floor and get out of my apartment.”

"Oh…" She noticed a brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but it was soon replaced with bland resignation. He swung his legs off the other side of the bed and stretched languidly, which afforded her an excellent view of his prominent shoulder blades and trim waist.

Nonplussed, Maeve reached over to her bedside table and retrieved her phone. She began dispassionately scrolling through her Instagram notifications as her latest hookup loped around her room, hopping into his pants and poking around for entirely too long.

“Do you need any help?” Maeve asked, glancing up from her phone.

“I can’t find my shirt,” he said breathlessly, on his knees and peering under an armchair.

“It’s in my living room.”

“Oh… right.” He stood up, staring imploringly at her for a long moment.

Maeve remembered how he had looked the night before, angular and mysterious under club lights… Taking him home and making out for a while on the black leather couch… Leading him into her bedroom and pushing him back onto her magnificent canopy bed… Even now, in daylight, he was exactly her type: slim, big eyes, messy hair. Too bad that the blankness of his gaze and his gaping mouth ruined it all.

“Well, bye,” he said with a forced wave, closing her door behind him as he left.

“Finally,” Maeve muttered under her breath, before dragging herself out of bed and pulling on her satin bathrobe. She listened to the sound of quick footsteps through her apartment and waited for the distinctive slam of the front door before she left the room herself. On the way, she rubbed her tired eyes and thought of the large mug of coffee that would soon await her.

When she got to the kitchen, which was adjacent to the foyer, she was greeted with a knock at the door.

Puzzling over who it could be and hoping it wasn't her newest conquest, Maeve walked to her front door and looked through the peephole.

Surely enough, it was a slim young man, but thankfully not one that she had been intimate with. She could tell immediately from his spiky dark hair, tight shirt, and trendy glasses that it was Nico Espinoza, her best friend since middle school.

Maeve opened the door and said, "Nico, what brings you here?" but was interrupted mid-sentence.

"Who was that handsome, _half-naked_ young man I ran into on the stairs?" Nico asked with a characteristically impish expression. "I assume he belonged to you."

Maeve smirked. "No one of any importance. Now why are you here so early?"

"You wound me!" Nico exaggeratedly put a hand on his heart as he breezed past Maeve into her apartment. "Did you really forget about the Ren Faire?"

That made more sense. Maeve suddenly noticed the large, fake elf ears poking out from Nico's hair, a relic of his old Link cosplay from high school.

"Nico, we aren't going to the Renaissance Faire until tomorrow," she said with a touch of exasperation. As a highly organized person, she was often irritated by Nico's carefree disdain for plans. This was far from the first time that he'd had the wrong day for an event. "I have the shoot for Abyss Magazine today, remember?"

Nico tapped his chin philosophically. "I _do_ seem to recall you telling me about that. Wait, is today Saturday?"

"Yes," Maeve replied patiently.

"And what time is the photo shoot?"

"2:00. Why?"

Nico checked the time on his phone. "Well, it's just after 10… This calls for brunch. I'm starving."

"I have to get dressed, but brunch works for me… as long as you're paying," Maeve finished with a sly smile.

He nodded. "Deal."

* * *

Just under twenty minutes later, Maeve was ready to go out into the world. As with any normal day, she had chosen to wear her dark hair in its natural waves, rather severe eye makeup, and an all-black outfit: black top, black faux leather leggings, black blazer, black heeled boots, and a wide black sunhat to protect her fair skin.

The only color came from an antique gold necklace, its pendant engraved with a Celtic-styled crow. Like head-to-toe black, she wore it every day. Most people who noticed her necklace assumed it was a raven, in reference to the poem by Edgar Allan Poe, and although she _was_ a fan of classic gothic literature, she would always correct them and explain it as an early gift from her mother. She had had the necklace for as long as she could remember—she was even wearing it in all of her baby pictures. Maeve wasn't usually the type to become overly attached to objects, but the necklace was a rare exception. 

"Ready to go, queen of darkness?" Nico asked, getting up from the tufted leather couch in her living room.

Maeve was pleased by the reference to her surprisingly popular Instagram account, where she showcased her photography and personal style under that moniker. "You know it. Now take off those elf ears."

"I honestly forgot I was wearing them!" he claimed.

She snorted and grabbed her black purse from the coat rack near her door. "Let's go. I think we both need some coffee as soon as possible."

Together, Maeve and Nico went down the narrow wooden staircase and out the back door of the building, a sprawling Victorian mansion that had been divided into eight modern apartments. Maeve had fallen in love with the history and character of the property the first time she'd seen it, even though her second floor apartment could only be accessed from the much less glamorous rear door.

As they walked toward the parking lot, Maeve noticed a large crow sitting on a fence post and surveying her through glinting dark eyes.

"What is it with these crows?" Nico asked, also seeing the bird. "Are they ever _not_ in your backyard?"

Maeve suddenly remembered a hazy image from her dream the night before, something to do with heavy, billowing smoke and a black bird. "Funny you should mention that. I think I had a dream about crows last night."

"Speaking of last night…" he said as they piled into his car, a somewhat shabby used vehicle that he had named Nosferatu. "Tell me _all about_ that guy running out of your apartment. He was cute."

"And annoying."

"What happened?"

“He was too clingy, so I kicked him out.”

Nico’s mouth fell open. “But you love clingy!”

“Only in a relationship,” Maeve countered. “Besides, he wasn’t cute enough to justify a morning reprise.”

“Right, because no one's cuter than Lucas.”

The reminder of her most recent breakup stung. "Shut up," Maeve said over the inconvenient flare of emotion that Nico's comment had set alight. The worst part was that despite his flippancy, he was dead-on, as usual. No one that she had been with in the past seven months could make Maeve forget about _that boy_ and how he had suddenly left her for an older woman.

Nico apologetically cast his dark brown eyes over to her. "Sorry. I took it too far." He drove for a few minutes in thoughtful silence, while Maeve zoned out and looked at the trees and buildings along the road. After a little while, he sighed and gave her a playful smile. "Anyway, is there a reason that your visitor today was running around shirtless?"

"He forgot his shirt in the living room last night. I thought he would grab it before he left."

Nico parked Nosferatu in the street near one of their favorite haunts, an industrial-chic café called Steamy Indulgences, and they both got out of the car. "Well, he didn't have it on when I ran into him. He was flying down the stairs like a bat out of hell, saw me, and went straight out the door. I said, 'Good morning,' and he didn't even acknowledge me. Come to think of it, it _was_ pretty rude of him. At least I got an eyeful for my efforts."

"You are so thirsty," Maeve laughed, opening the door to the café. Immediately, the air filled with the din of excited young people and the aroma of coffee beans.

"Well, you're not the only one here who hasn't been in a relationship in a while," he said self-importantly as they got into line. "In fact… how about we go out tonight? Bjorn texted me the other day that Lovelorn the Freak is having another gig at Forbidden Fruit. I haven't gotten back to him yet, but we could totally go."

Lovelorn the Freak was a gothic wave band formed by Maeve's ex-boyfriend Lucas and two of their friends, Vardaman and Bjorn, in high school. Lucas had left the band at the same time that he broke up with Maeve, which was news to everyone because Lovelorn the Freak was _just_ starting to achieve some local success. Since the breakup, Maeve had only gone to one of their gigs, and that had been very emotionally taxing. But then again, that had been months ago… And Forbidden Fruit _was_ her favorite club…

"Yeah, let’s do it. I didn't have any plans tonight."

"Wow, that's a surprise."

Maeve elbowed him and they exchanged grins, and then it was their turn to order.

* * *

Before long, Maeve was half-finished with her large coffee (black, of course) and Nico was _still_ waiting impatiently for his salted caramel iced latte with extra whipped cream.

Their food was sure to take even longer, but that was part of the experience. Steamy Indulgences always took a bit of a time commitment, although it was more than made up for with their food quality. Within weeks of opening in the previous year, the café had become a local favorite in its corner of Salem. It was always buzzing with customers, and despite being constantly crowded, there was an air of inexplicable spaciousness to it. Maeve was a frequent visitor; there was just something infectious about the combination of caffeine, delicious food, and the energy of a loud, crowded space.

While Nico remained waiting near the counter, Maeve just _barely_ managed to find a recently vacated table to squeeze into. As she sipped at her coffee, she took out her phone and realized she had a new direct message:

> _you doing anything tonight? <3_

It was from Amanda, a surprisingly high-maintenance girl she'd met through Instagram and hooked up with the previous weekend. Maeve groaned a little. Even if she _hadn't_ just decided to go to see Lovelorn the Freak tonight, she wouldn't have really wanted to see Amanda again.

Nico came over and set a tray laden with their plates on the table, and Maeve put her phone back in her bag. "This looks so delicious," Nico gushed, sliding into a chair and eyeing his portobello breakfast sandwich hungrily.

Maeve picked up a fork and began eating her meal, a savory crepe filled with gruyere and caramelized onions. It was delectable, a true feast for the senses. "Well, what's taking you?"

"Good point, Crawford. Don't mind if I do!"

* * *

A few hours later, it was time for the photo shoot with Abyss Magazine, a local publication that showcased the distinctive fashion, music, movies, and lifestyle of the gothic subculture in Salem.

Maeve had loved everything about Abyss since her early teens, having spent endless hours studying the beautiful women in its pages and yearning to be one herself someday. Astonishingly, she had seen that dream become a reality in adulthood, first as a model on a few occasions and then in a spread that was entirely about her career as an Instagram influencer and up-and-coming photographer. That incredible opportunity had presented itself the previous year, opening countless doors in her professional life ever since.

It was just as much of a surprise and honor to be hired to shoot an actual editorial, which was set to take place in an old colonial-era cemetery. But despite her excitement, Maeve arrived at the graveyard in full business mode and immediately got to work.

The life of a freelance photographer was unpredictable at best, and she had known and accepted the risks from the start. She didn't have weekends or a work-life balance like most traditionally employed people, but that never bothered her. As a competitive micromanager by nature, she thrived on the instability, because there were few things she loved more in life than a challenge. There was something so satisfying about rising to meet every unexpected demand from her clients, composing a beautiful shot piece by piece, and getting paid for a job well done.

Under a gray, cloudy sky, Maeve snapped frame after frame of the black-clad models posing before a field of weathered gravestones. Their hair and long dresses caught the wind and floated up behind them, transforming what would have already been an aesthetic photo spread into something truly magical.

The only distraction came from one of the models, a morose-looking young woman who kept giving Maeve her best bedroom eyes. Even when it was the other girl's turn to be photographed, Maeve could see her in her peripheral vision, sending dourly flirtatious glances and generally interfering with her concentration. _Doesn't she know I'm trying to work?_ she thought, pretending not to notice. The girl wasn't _quite_ her type, anyway: unlike her undeniable penchant for mysterious, broken boys, she was typically attracted to sunnier personalities in women.

Maeve kept things strictly professional, as always, and soon regained her concentration. She avoided the girl's attempts to talk to her alone after the shoot, instead going through the usual dialogue with her clients and the other important figures on set. They all loved the photos she'd taken, but no one was more satisfied than Maeve herself.

She said goodbye to everyone on set and returned to her car, letting the amazing experience of the last hour fully wash over her. Before driving home, she decided to reapply her liquid lipstick in the rearview mirror and accidentally met her own dark brown gaze for a moment. Maeve couldn't resist giving her reflection a triumphant smirk, still riding the dual high of a successful photo shoot and dreams fulfilled.

Life was pretty good.

* * *

That evening, after a delicious dinner of Thai takeout, Maeve reclined on her chaise lounge and waited for Nico to pick out some wine from her sizable collection. He soon reappeared in the living room, toting two wine glasses and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and placed them on the crowded coffee table, amidst plastic containers and other remnants of their dinner.

"Excellent choice," she said, while he uncorked it and poured them each a large glass of the dark, aromatic alcohol.

Nico graciously handed her one before returning to his perch on the couch. "A toast," he proclaimed, raising his glass in the air, "in order that we may enjoy an evening of mischief, debauchery, and earthly delights."

"Cheers to that." Maeve clinked her glass against his and took a very long drink. The wine was bold, smooth, and full-bodied, and within seconds she could feel it beginning to blaze through her system. Delicious. "If the night ahead of us is anything like this wine, we’re in for quite a time."

"Mmm, I certainly hope so." Nico finished his glass and settled into a more comfortable position on the couch, until his eyes caught something on the floor. He suddenly leaned forward, clearly transfixed. "What is that?"

Maeve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Aha!" With a fiendishly delighted cackle, he raised a misshapen bundle of dark burgundy leather above his head. It unfurled immediately into a vest-like garment with a few daring cutouts. "Is this the fabled shirt that your visitor left behind today?"

"I think you know the answer to that," she said, pouring herself another glass.

Nico gave the shirt an appraising look. "Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming back for it any time soon… I'm going to try this on. If it fits, I am _totally_ wearing it out tonight. After all, it got its previous owner laid. Maybe it can work for me, too."

Maeve, who had been taking a sip of wine, choked out a laugh. "I'm not sure the universe works like that, but you're welcome to try. We should start getting ready soon, anyway." Preparing for a night out was always quite an involved process for both of them—the sooner they started, the faster they would get to Forbidden Fruit. "What time does Lovelorn go on?"

"9:30. We'll have plenty of time if we start soon." Nico hopped to his feet, throwing the leather vest over his shoulder. "I call the bathroom first!"

* * *

After some deliberation, Maeve decided to make that evening the debut of one of her most recent clothing purchases, a black dress with singularly witchy flair. At its heart, it was a short, daring club dress with a deep V neckline and a mostly open back, but what really set it apart was the flowy, full-length skirt that tied like a robe around the waist. It gave the illusion of a sweeping gown, while still revealing one tantalizingly bare leg in the front. Maeve always jumped at the opportunity to show some skin when going out—she had the confidence and lush curves to pull it off, in addition to swirling floral tattoos along her back and right arm that she was equally proud of.

Paired with heeled black boots, tousled waves, bold waterproof makeup, and her signature crow necklace, Maeve was confident that her outfit showed off her personality and all of her best features in one magnificent package (which was, coincidentally, why she had splurged on the dress in the first place).

"Work, honey!" Nico exclaimed when she emerged from her bedroom. "Queen of darkness, indeed!"

"That's the idea," said Maeve, feeling very self-assured and ready to paint the town. "You don't look too bad, yourself."

Nico was, surely enough, wearing the shirt left behind by her most recent hookup, his deep golden skin looking especially warm and healthy next to the oxblood-colored leather. It was far more revealing than his usual club wear of bowties, button-ups, and steampunk-inspired jackets, but the tightness and hypersexuality of it suited him. "I barely managed to squeeze into this thing, but I am honestly so here for it."

She gave him a playfully condescending pat on the shoulder. "My little theater kid is growing up! Want to take a couple OOTDs?" Outfit-of-the-day photos were a regular feature of her Instagram account, showcasing all of her best outfits and occasionally those of her friends.

"Of course! Your followers _deserve_ to see us right now. It's our civic duty," he said with a solemn nod.

A quick photo shoot on the stairs of Maeve's apartment building resulted in many fierce, social media-worthy pictures, and then it was finally time to go to Forbidden Fruit. They slid into the backseat of an Uber—that way, they wouldn't have to worry about designated drivers or leaving the club at the same time—and sped off towards what was sure to be a memorable evening.

* * *

Forbidden Fruit was situated forebodingly at the top of a hill like a watchful gargoyle, its bell tower piercing through an expanse of inky clouds that hung low in the night sky. It was one of the many timeworn buildings in Salem, its first incarnation having been a church, and many of the original features lingered even in its rebirth as a gothic club. Moody, loud music emanated through thick stone walls, beating in time with the pulse of strobe lights through old stained-glass windows.

Maeve and Nico ascended one of the crooked stairways leading to the wooden double doors of the club, falling into line behind many darkly dressed, avant-garde young adults waiting for their turn with the bouncers.

Soon after, they strode past the heavy, weathered doors and stepped into the former nave of the church. Long gone were the pews, replaced with a heavy throng of dancing people. Colossal stone columns loomed like ancient trees on either side of the nave, soaring up three stories to the vaulted ceiling above. The apse that had once housed the altar now held a tall, semicircular stage, which was visible from nearly every part of the building, except for the bathrooms and a few private spaces on the balcony level. In what had been an ambulatory along one side was an elongated bar with a glossy black top, red neon lights in the shape of twisting branches illuminating the numerous shelves of glass bottles behind it.

"Drinks?" Nico asked, raising his voice over the blaring, eerie music that echoed throughout the club.

"Of course," Maeve replied in an equally loud tone.

They wound through the crowd and leaned against the bar. Maeve immediately caught the attention of the bartender, who was dressed in even more leather and silver chains than most of the club's patrons, and within a short time she and Nico were sipping their drinks in barstools at a circular table.

Onstage, a few people in black T-shirts and pants were plugging in the amplifiers and fiddling around with microphone cords, although the only sign of Lovelorn the Freak continued to be their logo on the drum set.

Maeve checked the time on her phone, frowning slightly at the display. "Didn't you say that Lovelorn are going on at 9:30? It's already 9:40."

"Maybe Bjorn isn't here yet," Nico said with a shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time."

But then, as if summoned by Maeve's complaint, a tall, dark-skinned young man emerged onstage, electric guitar in hand. He was wearing a leather jacket over a toned chest and had styled his dreadlocks into a devil-may-care topknot for the evening.

"Thank God, it's Vardaman!" observed Nico. "He looks _really_ good tonight."

Maeve regarded Nico suspiciously. "Down, boy. You broke up with him years ago." Like Lucas and herself, Nico and Vardaman had dated in high school and parted at the beginning of college—but unlike them, the two guys never got back together. Maeve still wished that she had made the same decision. "Besides, he's taken."

Nico just sipped his cocktail through its straw and stared unashamedly at Vardaman, who was immediately joined onstage by his current significant other. Trisha, an extremely pale young woman with dyed black hair, a leather corset, and an impassive personality, had joined the band a year or two before as a violinist, although she had been filling in as the replacement bassist since Lucas left.

Bjorn, a strangely pathetic young man clad in a ripped mesh shirt, slouched onto the stage and plopped down behind the drums, looking as out-of-place and fish-like as ever. Nico said to Maeve, "So, what are you going to do when Bjorn inevitably hits on you after the show?"

"Same as I always have," she replied, finishing her drink. "Tell him to go fuck himself."

Bjorn had been trying for _years_ to get with her, even before she and Lucas started dating. He had apparently never understood that she wasn't interested: not in high school, nor in college when she was actually single for a while, and not since then either.

"I wonder if he's secretly a masochist or something. That _would_ explain why he keeps going after such a dominant, emotionally distant woman like you."

Maeve snorted, but she couldn't argue with that assessment. "Most likely."

But then, the spotlights finally turned on and the rest of Forbidden Fruit went even darker than it had been already. Excited clubgoers hurried over for a spot in front of the stage until there was a sizable crowd, and Maeve and Nico rushed out of their seats to join them.

After a few seconds of anticipation, during which the stage filled with thick artificial fog, the band launched into one of their most popular songs, a cryptic but energetic meditation about death called 'Bells'.

An otherworldly, high-pitched voice began wailing from backstage over the music:

_"Bells—the terrible alarm sounds,  
And since then, bells, bells signal death."_

Midway through the second line, a lithe figure strode onstage, to the accompaniment of raucous applause from the audience. She seemed unaware of the attention, instead being consumed body, mind, and soul by the act of singing. It was Rei, the real star of the show.

_"He heard the voice of fear_  
_Rising like cool garments above the ears._  
_The pain is too frightened to scream, to shout, to speak."_

Rei, a solemn Japanese woman, had joined Lovelorn the Freak while its other members were finishing college. From the moment she joined the group, her talent, creativity, and stage presence had invigorated the other members (except for the criminally lazy Bjorn), and from then on they'd been much more serious about their craft. She made everyone else look better just by virtue of being onstage with her, and the songs she wrote were some of their best, "Bells" being a perfect example.

As Maeve and Nico danced in the crowd, getting lost in the performance, Maeve began to feel the thunderously loud music pulsating through her body and affecting her on a physical level. Each heartbeat soon became indistinguishable from the drums' rhythm, while the snarling guitar and deep bass line became the chaotic soundtrack of her brain, drowning out all other thoughts. Above it all was Rei's piercing voice, floating through the club like an icy winter wind.

_"Weather, climate, weather._  
_The call of the same song,_  
_A warning, a long time, runes and bells._  
_The time is coming."_

Maeve shivered despite herself, feeling suddenly cold. She stopped dancing for an instant, which caused her to look away from the stage, and before she knew it, her eyes were flooded with the sight of Lucas. He was standing on a raised platform behind one of the nearby columns, gripping the wrought iron railing with both hands… and looking directly at her.

She shook out her long hair in front of her face, sure that the alcohol was making her hallucinate, but he was there when she glanced back over: as pale and spindly as a Tim Burton creation, with big, sad eyes and flatironed dark hair flopping on his forehead in the same way as it always had. 

His unexpected presence hit her straight in the stomach, forming immediately into a gnawing ball of discomfort. Maeve was still dancing as if nothing was wrong, but her thoughts became tormented. Why was he there? Even more, why was he looking at her like that?

_"You might think that predicts taking joy in the world,  
But it seems to be the passage of the cauldron."_

As Maeve watched, a slim blonde woman sidled up next to him and seized his arm in a distinctly overprotective manner. Her elongated, pointy face and overall dinosaur-like disposition was unmistakable—it was Siofra, Lucas's new… _wife_.

It was hard to wrap her head around even so long after the fact, that one day everything in their relationship had been fine, and the next he eloped with a strange woman at least twice their age. Things hadn't been perfect before the breakup, mostly because of Lucas's inability to take care of his own basic needs, but Maeve had still cared more deeply about him than almost anyone else she knew.

And once someone was in her heart, it was remarkably difficult to get them out again. That was why Maeve had been so hesitant to get into another relationship since. If someone she actually trusted unequivocally and wholeheartedly could do that to her, what else was possible? Vulnerability was not worth the trouble.

_"She danced and screamed.  
Oh, the price of cells."_

Lucas gazed adoringly at Siofra, who shot a supercilious look at Maeve before grabbing Lucas by the neck and pulling him into a possessive kiss. Of course.

Maeve had seen more than enough. For the sake of her enjoyment of the evening, she needed to detach emotionally from the situation and throw herself into the music again. And that was exactly what she did, just in time for the final chorus of the song.

_"Bells—the terrible alarm sounds,  
And since then, bells, bells signal death."_

Onstage, Rei had flung herself onto her knees, holding onto the microphone for dear life, her impossibly long dark hair tangled around her face. She dramatically tossed her head back to deliver the last line of the song, in the form of an extended wail.

_"Bitch, just listen!"_

The audience erupted into a frenzied ovation as the music temporarily died down. Maeve redirected her torrential, inconvenient emotions into the act of clapping, letting the primal roar of the crowd fill her ears and allow her to purge herself of negativity.

"Damn, that song is weird!" Nico yelled exuberantly to Maeve as they clapped. "But, like, weird in a good way."

"Just like you," said Maeve, feeling better already. "No wonder you like it."

Rei's breathy speaking voice emanated from the amplifiers. "Good evening, Forbidden Fruit. We are Lovelorn the Freak, and we're positively honored to be here with you tonight. We hope you enjoyed our first song, 'Bells', because up next is 'November Chalice, December Malice.'" Bjorn beat a few pulses on the bass drum, during which Rei closed her eyes and began singing once more.

_"Here on the hillside in deepest grass…"_

* * *

After Lovelorn's set was over, Maeve and Nico got some more drinks and hit the dance floor again. The show had been fantastic: each member of the band was in top form, Bjorn's songs had finally been removed from the setlist, and Maeve was so proud to see her friends doing what they loved. She hadn't even thought about Lucas again… until he and Siofra began dancing nearby.

Nico was actually the one to point it out to her. "Don't look now," he said in an ominous undertone, "but Lucas is here."

Maeve looked over her shoulder, saw them, and sighed. "I spotted him during the show. I can't believe he's here."

"I guess Siofra let him out of the house for once."

Siofra was dancing literal circles around Lucas, who was doing his usual self-conscious shuffle. He had always been a terrible dancer, preferring to look at his feet instead of his partner's face, and being too trapped by his own shyness to enjoy himself. Nothing had changed, except for who he was dancing with. Seeing Siofra occupying the role Maeve once had, twisting it into a grabby and visually uncomfortable act of possession, was another blow straight to the gut.

Although, now that Maeve could see Lucas up close, there was something very different about him. He'd always been slight of build, but he looked downright emaciated, a skeletal wisp of a boy. Even the bones of his face were more prominent than they'd ever been, accentuated by deep circles under his strangely glassy eyes.

It was in his nature to forget to eat or sleep from time to time (which had been a constant source of exasperation for Maeve), but why had Siofra let it get this far? If she really cared about him enough to marry him, why did he look so sick?

_It's none of my business,_ Maeve told herself firmly. _He's not my responsibility anymore._ If he wanted to waste away to nothing and Siofra wouldn't do anything to stop him, it was his own damn fault.

Lucas suddenly locked eyes with her, his gaze wide and panicked. Maeve felt a rush of anger and let it show on her face, before defiantly turning away. To hell with Lucas Mallory.

"Maeve, are you okay?" Nico asked, looking at her concernedly.

"I'm fine," she replied, perhaps a bit too brusquely to be convincing. She took a deep breath and let it out, putting Lucas out of her mind again. This was supposed to be a fun evening. She would have fun. "Come on, let's get back to dancing."

"Speaking of dancing… Hey, Maeve. Long time, no see." It was Bjorn, as hopeful and pitiful as ever, practically undressing her with his eyes. She had always found Bjorn's infatuation with her creepy, but her current mood just rendered the whole thing amusing in a spiteful way.

Nico, meanwhile, was visibly irritated from being ignored. "Hi, Bjorn."

"Oh, hey Nico," Bjorn said, barely noticing him even then. "Anyway, Maeve, want to, um, dance with… you know, me?"

"It's your lucky night, Bjorn. I think I will."

Nico's mouth fell open, so Maeve shot him a covert wink. This was the perfect opportunity to have some fun, especially if Lucas was making the mistake of watching. And surely enough, as she led Bjorn to a better spot on the dance floor, she did catch a glimpse of that all-too-familiar pair of brown eyes.

_Eat your heart out,_ Maeve thought cruelly, placing Bjorn's hands on her hips.

* * *

Dancing with Bjorn made Maeve feel like a vindictive goddess: conquering, unattainable, condescending, and dangerously sensual, with just a dash of cynicism. Although she had no interest in actually seducing him, it was fun to use her wiles for nefarious purposes. She wasn't normally the type to lead people on without seeing things through to a mutually satisfying conclusion, but that was just the mood she was in. It was both gratifying and cruelly amusing to see the effect she had on him, especially since she suspected that she still had Lucas as an audience.

The lust-stricken look on Bjorn’s face was the cherry on top as she moved against him, his eyes lidded and mouth gaping like a goldfish. Maeve knew that she had completely reeled him in, and she laughed slightly in triumph as she ran her glossy black fingernails across his opened lips. Bjorn made a hilarious sound of need and tilted his head back, clearly gulping.

Pretending to toss her hair, Maeve took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder to see if Lucas was watching. He was. Even better, Siofra was nowhere to be seen. As they locked eyes again, Maeve’s smile became mocking, and she pulled Bjorn even closer, winding her arms around his neck. _Enjoy the view, Lucas_ , she thought.

She drew Bjorn's face in to hers as if about to kiss him and stared unflinchingly into his dilated pupils. He was even more unattractive up close, which fascinated Maeve on a certain level. She could see the sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead, the unevenly smeared eyeliner, the way his septum ring was irritatingly off-center, his patchy goatee.

“Mmm, Maeve,” Bjorn groaned, tracing his hands along the contours of her body from her waist to her hips. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he angled his open mouth up to hers… giving her the perfect opportunity to cut him loose.

Maeve abruptly pulled back, seeing the rejection register on his still-gaping face. “Go fuck yourself,” she told him with a cruel smirk, pushing his shoulders away and watching him stagger to regain his balance.

“W-what?” Bjorn sputtered, attempting to grab at her again.

She easily sidestepped his drunken advances and gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. Over the years, she had teased Bjorn on many occasions and to varying degrees, although none had gone as far as this. Despite his creepy entitlement issues and general objectification of her, he was _such_ easy prey that it was nearly impossible to resist the power trip sometimes. She wasn't particularly proud of it, but that didn't make it any less true.

“Bye,” she said, turning on the heel of her left boot and sauntering away.

Unsurprisingly, Nico had been watching the whole spectacle, since he practically ran into Maeve as she was walking away. Catching her arm, Nico exclaimed over the loud music, “Maeve, you magnificent bitch!”

“What?” she asked with an eyeroll and an elegant shrug. "He had it coming."

“Obviously. But did he _seriously_ just try to kiss you?" Nico shook his head in wide-eyed disbelief. "I mean, yikes!”

“You would think that he’d know better by now,” Maeve commented, glancing around again for Lucas.

Unfortunately, she no longer had his attention—instead, his _wife_ had just returned and immediately removed the half-full cocktail glass in his hand. Lucas complied with an adoring look as Siofra began to fuss over him, adjusting his hair and even straightening his collar. Just like before, as if sensing Maeve’s attention, the woman turned in her direction. She shot Maeve a blatantly venomous look, before protectively leading Lucas to a table in a dark corner of the club.

“Ugh,” Maeve scoffed to Nico, who was also watching the odd couple. “She looks _and_ acts like his mother.”

“Well, I can’t really blame her. If I were a woman of her age, I would be just as overprotective toward a hot young thing like Lucas,” Nico said unhelpfully. “Especially with such fierce competition around."

Maeve was satisfied with the compliment, which distracted her from her negative emotions again, and soon she had returned to her preferred state of hedonistic egotism.

Pulling her out of her thoughts, Nico gave a delighted gasp and excitedly turned to her. "Oh my God, I think I see someone I know at the bar."

She followed his line of sight to a Middle Eastern man with broad shoulders and a pompadour haircut, drinking what appeared to be whiskey. "Was he that guy you hooked up with a couple weeks ago?"

 Nico flashed her a shameless grin. "He was so much fun. Should I go over there, or does that seem desperate?"

"You should, especially since you _are_ desperate. There's nothing wrong with treating yourself."

He straightened his posture and set his small, pointy chin. "You know what, I think I will! I deserve this!" He turned one last wild smile in Maeve's direction, practically vibrating with excitement. "Wish me luck!"

She threw a supportive arm around him. "Good luck! If all goes well, I'll see you tomorrow for the Ren Faire. If you need me, I'll be on the dance floor."

Nico strutted off towards the bar, and Maeve weaved her way through the tight crowd, keeping an eye out for any evening prospects of her own. At her height of five-foot-ten plus her heels, she had an exceptional vantage point for spotting attractive people. She saw plenty of good-looking faces on men and women alike, but none that completely sparked her fancy. Hopefully, that would soon change.

Despite her busy day and hours of dancing, Maeve felt revitalized, as if she were lit from within by an inferno of all-consuming flames.

Lucas who?

* * *

As far as Maeve was concerned, there were few sexier feelings in the world than to be moving her hips to the beat of pounding music, a tight dress deliciously enclosing her body and alcohol making her veins blaze with a dark, heady fire. It was in moments like these that she was most aware of her own vitality, and she could practically see the erotic cocktail of life and sexuality flowing off her in waves and sweeping over the dance floor. Pushed up against strangers, swaying, engulfed by crashing music, everything ceased to be except for the ecstatic sensuality of movement.

That is, until Maeve cast her eyes over everyone's heads to the edge of the dance floor, where she noticed a slender young man with shoulder-length hair leaning against one of the immense columns.

The dim, flashing lights of the club caught a pale face, thrown into dramatic relief by shadows below his brow and in the hollows of his cheeks. There was something captivatingly forlorn about the way he was holding himself, the tilt of his head. He was as chiseled and unaffected by the chaotic club around him as a marble statue. An enigmatic, beautiful boy…

Clearly lost in thought, he did eventually notice that he had Maeve's attention. He tensed and averted his face in embarrassment, although she could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. How adorable.

Maeve had a feeling that it was only a matter of seconds before he would glance up again in her direction, and she was almost immediately proven right. His eyes were still in shadow, but Maeve kept hers locked on him as she danced. Each of her movements became even more fluid, elongated, brazenly seductive, an alluring whisper of what could come.

He didn't dare to look away again; instead, the expression on his face was one of unmistakable awe. Maeve took that as an invitation to dance her way over to him, feeling dangerous and confident, like a tigress approaching an antelope through a field of tall grasses. Her target, for his part, had frozen in the act of raking a hand through his hair, still endearingly self-conscious.

Winding through the crowd to the pulsing beat of the music, Maeve let it rush through her body and ignite her senses even further. It mixed with the rapturous anticipation that came from drawing closer to the beautiful stranger, drowning out everything but him.

He was taller than she was expecting, given his slight build and her tendency to tower over nearly everyone she knew. As she closed the distance between them, coming to stand less than an arm's length away, she realized that their proportions were almost exactly even. Shoulder-to-shoulder, face-to-face, Maeve's heeled boots elevated her only an inch or two above him.

His eyes stole her breath, now that she could really see them: sensitive and haunted, the eyes of an artist, gazing at her with so much open vulnerability that he may as well have handed her his heart on the spot. There was no turning back now, nor would she have wanted to.

"Hey, I'm Maeve," she said, giving him her best sultry smirk.

His lips parted and then turned into a timid smile. "Dylan." Even over the loud music, his voice was soft with an underlying reediness, like a woodwind instrument.

"You look lonely. Come dance with me." Watching him very closely for any sign of rejection, Maeve reached out and took one of his hands in hers. She was surprised to feel some calluses along his palm and fingers, although the skin on the back of his hand was very smooth. A musician, perhaps?

If it weren't for the gentle, warm pressure from his hand, she may have found it difficult to believe that the adorable boy before her was real. He was still staring deeply into her eyes, clearly just as taken with her as she was with him. "I'd love to."

Keeping hold of his hand, Maeve grinned and led him onto the dance floor.

* * *

Although Forbidden Fruit was just as crowded as it had been earlier in the night, if not more so, Maeve barely took note of anything besides the beautiful young man she was dancing with. Everything else—the pounding, wailing music, the boisterous patrons of the club—seemed much less interesting than Dylan's sparkling eyes, coy smiles, and gentle hands around her waist.

As they moved together, Maeve realized that he was the partner she had been unknowingly longing for: someone who would let her lead, but would match her beat for beat and movement for movement in perfect synchronization. Despite his obvious introversion, he was a surprisingly skilled dancer, radiating quiet confidence and natural sensuality.

Maeve could not have been more attracted to him if she tried. As she pulled his wiry body against her, Dylan's gaze turned into a full-on smolder. She was close enough to hear his slight gasp, to smell the sweet, fruity alcohol on his breath.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, Maeve slid one of her hands from his shoulder to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his soft hair. They looked at each other for a long moment, each breathing heavily with anticipation, until Maeve couldn't stand it anymore and drew him into a blazing kiss.

The flames that had been stirring in Maeve the entire evening ignited as soon as their lips touched, threatening to consume them both. It didn't even matter that they were strangers, that they hardly knew each other's names; in that scorching moment, it was as if their souls were completely bared to one another, eliciting recognition, relief, and an indescribable realization of their innermost desires. It was dizzying and slightly terrifying, but Maeve couldn't help but want more, to fall together into the rising inferno.

Keeping a firm grip on his hair, she adjusted the angle of their faces and deepened the kiss considerably. A tremor ran through Dylan's body, proof that her seductive power was working on him, although there was nothing tentative or unsure in the way he was responding to her. She may have been the one in control, setting the pace, tasting him, but he was proving himself more than capable of keeping up with her.

Every movement, every stroke, every touch fueled the flames within her. She needed to be closer to him, to feel his skin under her fingertips. Without breaking the kiss, Maeve's other hand found the buttons running down the front of his dark shirt and impatiently tugged the top half open, exposing a surprisingly toned chest. His skin was silky and evidently very sensitive, judging by the gasp against her lips that her touch provoked.

Dylan pulled back to catch his breath. His eyes were wild with passion, voice faltering a little as he said, "D-do you want to go somewhere?"

"My place," she replied immediately, still luxuriating in the feeling of his skin.

He shivered, holding onto her as if for dear life, and pressed one more gentle kiss against her lips. "Alright."

Maeve took his hand and led him towards the back door of the club. She threw open the door, only to be greeted with a torrential downpour of rain. Maeve didn't particularly mind rain most of the time, but this was just inconvenient. Although… it didn't have to be, necessarily.

She asked Dylan, "Is the rain a problem for you?"

"Not really," he said, calmly regarding the stormy night sky.

"Good." Without hesitation, Maeve pulled them both into the rain, delighting in its coolness on her hot, upturned face. She hadn't realized how overheated she was until that moment, not even caring that the rain was already beginning to soak through her dress and drench her hair. Dylan looked similarly refreshed and waterlogged, laughing delightedly when his gaze met hers again.

Maeve couldn't help but to launch herself at him, sweeping him into her arms and kissing him. As thunder crashed above them, she backed him against the old stone wall of the building, one of her hands shielding the back of his head from its craggy, wet surface. The rain continued to fall all around them, tangling their hair together into long, dripping ropes, and eventually chilling them so thoroughly that they began to shiver against one another.

They withdrew from the kiss at the same time, staring wordlessly at each other, lips swollen. Under the light of streetlamps, Maeve could finally appreciate that Dylan's eyes were the loveliest shade of hazel that she'd ever seen. He was blinking away errant raindrops as if they were tears, looking so hopelessly beautiful that Maeve ached to photograph him.

The knowledge of what would inevitably come next, once they made it to her apartment, was breathtaking. Why stay in the freezing rain?

"We should get an Uber," she said simply.

He nodded, excitement twinkling in his hazel eyes. "I can pay for it."

Maeve really knew then that she'd found a keeper.

* * *

They made out in the backseat during the entire ride back to Maeve's apartment, unable to keep their hands off one another for long. When the car finally let them out in front of the old Victorian mansion, Maeve took Dylan's hand again, leading him around the back and up the old, creaking stairs to her apartment.

As soon as her front door closed behind them, they found each other's lips again, straining closer and closer together, only interrupted when Maeve had to pull away for an instant to toss her damp purse onto a side table. Without missing a beat, Dylan began planting a line of soft kisses on her neck, including one on the golden chain of her necklace.

Maeve arched against him, practically purring. "Come on, let's go to my room." She couldn't take it any longer—she _had_ to have him. Normally, she would have avoided going to bed with wet hair, but this was an extenuating circumstance.

"Right, yeah." He looked faintly embarrassed but nonetheless excited, which Maeve found immensely adorable.

They passed through her apartment together, Dylan taking in all of her gothic furnishings with open fascination. After what was literally only a few seconds but felt like an eternity, they reached her bedroom. It was just as meticulously decorated as the rest of the apartment, featuring grayish-lavender damask wallpaper and a black and white fireplace, every hard surface covered with assorted candles, aesthetic knickknacks, and books. The real centerpiece, however, was the show-stopping canopy bed layered with black and purple blankets.

"Wow," Dylan exhaled, turning to regard Maeve with a timid smile. "This is beautiful."

"Thank you." Maeve came to stand mere inches away from him, absentmindedly untucking a damp lock of hair from behind one of his pierced ears and winding it around her fingers. His hair was almost as long as hers, brushing past his collarbones and beginning to flip up at the end as it dried. Letting it slip away, she rested her hand gently on the side of his soft, angular face, staring into his deep-set eyes.

Their mutual anticipation hung in the air, electric and inescapable, charging every passing moment with intoxicating suspense. Suddenly desperate to resolve the sexual tension, Maeve kissed him, forcefully pressing her open mouth against his with everything she had.

Her hands roamed down his bared chest, eliciting a groan in Dylan's throat as she unfastened the last few buttons of his shirt. He had seemed very bony while fully dressed, but as he shrugged his shirt onto the floor below, Maeve noticed in pleasant surprise that his shoulders, arms, and taut stomach were all clearly defined with lean muscle. Even more interestingly, he had two tattoos: a long arrow on the right side of his ribcage and an armband of ivy above his left elbow. She let her fingertips trace his tattoos and explore every inch of soft, exposed skin, delighting in his sharp intakes of breath against her mouth.

Consumed entirely with flames of lust, all of her senses ablaze, everything ceased to be except Dylan and the way he felt against her. In due time, she pushed him onto the bed and pinned his body against the mattress, letting her hair fall in dark curtains around his beautiful face.

Lost in the inferno and neither wanting to return, their night exploded in the passionate conflagration of two souls, perfectly matched, having found one another at last.

* * *

Maeve awoke while it was still dark outside, exhausted but incredibly satisfied. Her eyelids were even more difficult to pry apart than they had been the previous morning, but she ultimately succeeded in blinking them open. The room was lit by nothing but the full moon, which cast its unusual, silver-tinted radiance through the window behind her bed.

Dylan was still beside her, peaceful in sleep, his hair in disarray on the spare pillow. Now that Maeve was sober, she could appreciate his beauty even more fully—the smooth arc of his cheekbones, his soft, upturned nose, his pouty lips, still swollen from their night together… He was a vision, sleeping there in the moonlight.

Maeve carefully inched herself closer to him until their nude bodies barely brushed one another, delighting in the feeling of his skin against hers. It had been a long time since she'd felt this strongly about someone, especially a stranger.

Beginning to feel very tired again and letting her eyes close, she could almost imagine herself falling in love with this boy. On some level, she already had, even if it was only for a single night.

She drifted back to sleep, strangely comforted by the thought.


End file.
